


This Singular Night

by Misdemeanor1331



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Las Vegas, Las Vegas Wedding, Sten Do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28743393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misdemeanor1331/pseuds/Misdemeanor1331
Summary: On their last night in Las Vegas, Hermione asks Draco an unexpected question. He gives her an equally surprising answer.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley
Comments: 26
Kudos: 78
Collections: Dramione Valentine Exchange





	This Singular Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KrysKrossZee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrysKrossZee/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DramioneValentineExchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DramioneValentineExchange) collection. 



> **Prompt:** I'd love something based on the song Marry Me by Betty Who.
> 
> Written for the 2021 Dramione Valentine Exchange for KrysKrossZee. KrysKrossZee, I’ve been listening to “Marry Me” by Betty Who on repeat since I took your prompt. Thank you for introducing me to this new artist! 
> 
> No beta; we die like men! All mistakes are my own.

**This Singular Night**

Without remembering quite how she got there, Hermione Granger stumbled down the Las Vegas strip. Her heels were too high and her dress was too short. A drink—formerly frozen, but melting quickly in the evening heat—prespired in her hand.

It was shaped like an erect penis. 

“He’s really not bad, your brother.” Pansy Parkinson swung her arm around Hermione’s waist and leaned forward to look at Ginny Potter. The redhead walked on Hermione’s opposite side, scowling and somewhat sunburnt, clearly regretting her decision to visit Sin City five months pregnant. 

“Give it time,” she groused. 

“And you!” 

Hermione’s world tilted as Pansy dragged her around to address Luna Lovegood, who trailed several feet behind them. Her blue eyes were glassy, reflecting the casinos’ neon lights. Though the sky was clear, not a single star could be seen beyond their polluting haze. 

“You’re not bad either.” 

Luna smiled and sipped from the shaft of her eight-inch phallus cup. “Thank you.” 

Pansy lifted her chin, preening like she’d done the world a service by passing favorable judgment. She swung Hermione to face forward. As a pair, they teetered, veering right before being set back on course by a shove from Ginny. 

“I don’t have many girl friends, you know,” Pansy not-whispered into Hermione’s ear. 

“We know,” Ginny answered for her.

Ron had told them as much, repeatedly, as Pansy fretted about who to invite to their joint _sten_ do. 

Trusting no one’s taste but her own, Pansy had planned the whole thing herself. And Hermione had to admit: she’d done a fine job of it. Joint suites at the top of The Cosmopolitan, complete with private jacuzzis and complimentary drinks. Tickets to the swankiest circus shows, with low lighting and scantily clad performers who impressed with feats of unimaginable strength and flexibility. Meals at the most exclusive restaurants, where liveried sommeliers poured their wine and the waitstaff de-crumbed the white tablecloths after each course. 

It had been a long weekend of careless elegance, and Hermione had thoroughly enjoyed the luxuries that only the sole child of an old-money family could afford.

But tonight, the final night of their holiday, wasn’t about sophistication. It was about sin. About exploring the city’s darker avenues, reveling in its vices, and taking advantage of its short memory. 

“How do you think the gents got on?” 

Hermione gave Pansy a sideways glance. The woman talked tough, but a furrow of concern marred her brow. 

“I’m sure they behaved,” Hermione said mildly. Even knowing why their mixed group had split for the night—and the debaucherous venues each quartet had visited—there was at least _some_ chance of it being true. 

“Draco wouldn’t let him do otherwise,” Ginny said. “A bit protective, isn’t he?” 

Pansy beamed. “He _is_. He fancied me once, you know.” 

“We _know_ ,” Ginny said again, rolling her eyes. 

Pansy ignored her. “He was my first. A shite boyfriend, but a decent lay. Hermione knows.” 

Luna’s voice drifted forward, dreamy and nonjudgmental. “No, she doesn’t.” 

Hermione’s cheeks flared with heat. Pansy tugged her to a dead stop. 

“ _What_? But you’ve been dating for years!” 

“We’ve been _talking_ for _months_ ,” Hermione corrected. “We’re coworkers. Friends. We’re not dating.” 

Pansy paused a moment, assessing Hermione with hard, dark eyes before making another pronouncement. “ _Bullshite_!” She started forward, her strides longer and steadier than before. “Draco fancies you, and I suspect you fancy him. What more is there to discuss?” She shook her head, derisive, her black bob swinging. “No, this is getting sorted tonight, Granger. _Tonight_. If you’re not falling into bed with him by evening’s end, then I’ve failed as a— _Ron_!” 

With athleticism on par with the circus performers they’d seen, Pansy sprinted twenty feet in stiletto heels and launched herself into her fiancé’s arms. Ron Weasley stumbled back a step at the force of the impact. 

The rest of them made a more dignified reunion. Harry Potter nodded as he passed, then pulled Ginny into a kiss so thorough one would think they’d been parted for seven days instead of seven hours. Theodore Nott breezed by next, catching Luna mid-spin. Draco Malfoy waited just beyond them, standing in fitted denims and a black shirt, his blond hair carelessly mussed. She made her way to him, and they faced one another like strangers on the tube: awkward and swaying slightly. 

Or maybe that was just her swaying. 

“All right, Granger?” 

Embarrassing, how a simple question could render her speechless. Hermione nodded and sipped her drink, playing for time. Draco’s eyes widened as he saw the cup. Her formerly red-and-white swirled concoction had melted into a fleshy, homogenous pink, and sparkling drops of water slid down the molded veins. Hermione released her lips from the shaft with a panicked look and a quiet _pop_. 

Draco cleared his throat and seemed on the verge of comment. Pansy’s imperious voice snapped the air before he could utter a word. 

“Dancing!” 

The group continued down the Strip, following the sound of a throbbing bass beat. Draco took Hermione’s arm, steadying her as she walked. Her brain felt fuzzed, both by the alcohol and his proximity. He’d never touched her like this before. Had never been so close. 

She liked it. 

Harry paid their cover, and Hermione was forced to bin her half-empty drink. Theo nudged her, his expression one of poorly restrained delight. 

“Play your cards right, Granger, and you’ll suck on another one of those soon enough.” 

The glare he traded with Draco passed over her head. The innuendo did not. Maybe Pansy was right: maybe Draco _did_ fancy her. Theo certainly seemed to think so, and they knew him best. Hope lit in Hermione’s chest. 

Because Pansy’s suspicion was right: she fancied him, too. 

And had for a long time. Draco had changed after Eighth Year. Made amends not only to her, Harry, and Ron, but other people he’d hurt during the war. He was a diligent Auror and, by all accounts, a good partner and person. Hermione would have to be blind not to see that, and crazy not to respect him for it.

“Shove off, Nott,” Draco growled, his fingers tightening on Hermione’s arm. 

Theo only winked and disappeared with Luna into the club. Though Hermione wanted to follow, something held her back. The alcohol was only part of it. The buzz she rode made her feel light and carefree, and it electrified the sensation of Draco’s skin against hers. She didn’t want to feel that with another man in the club. 

With another man _anywhere_.

She wanted this: a night with Draco, away from the designs of their friends and the crush of the crowd. 

A night she could have, so long as she was brave enough to take it. 

Hermione turned to him. “I’m a little drunk,” she stated. _Under_ stated. 

Draco’s eyebrow rose, a sly smile playing across his lips. “Likewise. Do you want to go in?” 

“No.”

He didn’t even spare a look at the door. Hermione’s offered alternative was now a forgone conclusion. He was with her, no matter what.

“What do you want to do instead?” 

In that moment, Hermione felt _powerful_. Saying no to the club had opened their evening to infinite possibilities, all of which felt gloriously obtainable on this singular night, in this singular city, with this singular man. 

She faced Draco squarely. “I want to get married.” 

His expression locked into place, pleasant and neutral and so, so careful. She’d scared him. 

Hell, she’d scared herself. 

“Tonight?” he asked. 

“Yes.” 

“To me?” 

“ _Yes_.” Hermione took his hand. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel it, this _spark_ between us. I want you, Draco, and I think you want me, too.” 

“You’ll regret it,” he said, eyes narrowing with preemptive grief. “I couldn’t live with myself, knowing you’d regret it.” 

“I won’t.” She lifted herself onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. Chaste, at first. Light as she waited for her promise to register and firming when at last it did. Draco clutched her to him like a man drowning, and any uncertainty she might’ve had was wiped away by the sweep of his tongue against hers. His hands braced her waist, his fingers pressing against the soft skin of her back. 

He felt like destiny. _Right_ in a way that made her wonder about the universe’s turns and arcs of probability.

When they parted, his eyes shone like quicksilver between lids heavy with lust. 

“If you do, then I do,” he whispered against her lips. “But Hermione, are you sure?” 

She kissed him again, hard and binding, settling the question. Without further debate, she took Draco’s hand and pulled him away from the club. 

This idea was wild. It was reckless and irresponsible. It was madness, pure and addictive. 

But then, so was loving him.

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> A “sten” do, I’ve learned is a combined stag and hen do. Also, I used the following lyric from “Marry Me” by Betty Who: “If you do, then I do.”


End file.
